


Psychology of Coping

by onemechanicalalligator



Category: Community (TV)
Genre: Boys In Love, Coping, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mental Health Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-24
Updated: 2020-10-24
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:14:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27181642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onemechanicalalligator/pseuds/onemechanicalalligator
Summary: Jeff doesn't know what he needs.
Relationships: Abed Nadir/Jeff Winger
Comments: 10
Kudos: 74





	Psychology of Coping

Everyone leaves the study room except Abed and Jeff. 

Annie and Troy link arms, chatting about something funny that happened in class, and Britta and Shirley bounce out separately, each with somewhere exciting to go. Pierce trudges along behind them, his head in the clouds, and then the room is empty, empty except for the two of them, and Jeff is still pretending to text someone on his phone, and Abed is watching him, and then Jeff throws his phone across the room. It hits the whiteboard with a _thud_ and falls to the floor.

Jeff feels like his head is underwater, and he’s not even sure why he threw the phone, except he is vibrating with excess energy and doesn’t know what to do with it, and now he’s done something with some of it. It doesn’t make him feel better at all, though. He rocks in his chair, tapping his feet on the floor. He feels hollow and over-full and shaky and stiff. He feels like a rubber band ball of contradictions, and he imagines taking a pair of scissors to it, watching the whole thing just explode.

 _Are you okay?_ Abed asks quietly, not moving from his seat, but not taking his eyes off of Jeff. _How can I help you? What do you need right now?_

Something in Jeff breaks, something that fills him with anger and rage as he sits completely still and stares at the man he loves, the one who’s only trying to help him, the _only one_ who’s trying to help him. He feels like there’s fire in his veins, and he tries not to let it spill out as he thinks about _Abed,_ who always seems to know the right thing to do, _Abed,_ who always knows what he needs when he’s struggling, _Abed,_ who will say, _I need my weighted blanket, I need you to touch me, I need to be someplace dark and quiet,_ and maybe Jeff needs one or all of these things, but _he doesn’t know._

So he tells Abed that.

 _I don’t know,_ he says through gritted teeth. _I’m not like you. I don’t just know what I need all the time. I know I need something, and that’s as far as I can get. I don’t know how you do this, Abed. I don’t understand. I don’t… I don’t…_

He gets more and more frustrated the more he keeps speaking, and soon he’s going to yell at Abed, and that’s not what he wants, not at all. He closes his mouth, presses his lips together with enough force that it starts to hurt. Finally, he claps a hand over his mouth, and then he puts his head down on the table and tries to hide. Tries to make himself disappear. He wonders if Abed will understand that, if Abed will see that what he needs is to be alone. Or at least, that’s what he _wants._ Maybe.

Abed doesn’t say anything, and when Jeff looks up again, he still hasn’t moved. He’s respecting Jeff’s space, and Jeff can’t decide if he’s glad. He also can’t stand to be where he is for a single moment longer, so he stands up and walks over to the couch. He sits down and pulls his feet up on the cushion the way Abed usually does. He glances over at Abed, who is still watching him, who is still sitting in the exact same spot.

Jeff stares at him, waiting to see if Abed can read his mind. He bores his eyes into what he thinks must be Abed’s soul, suddenly hyper-aware of the fact that _he needs Abed,_ needs to be touching him, needs him here right now. He also doesn’t know where to find the words to ask for what he wants, so he doubles down his efforts, trying to make his eyes say _come,_ trying to make them say _please._

It works, because Abed nods slowly and then stands up and walks to Jeff, never taking his eyes off of him. It’s almost like he’s afraid to let Jeff out of his sight, like if he does, Jeff might disappear or combust or fall and crash into a million glittering pieces. And Jeff thinks that would be a valid concern, he could see any of those things happening to him at literally any moment. 

Abed keeps his eyes on Jeff when he gets to the couch, when he sits down, when he opens his arms for Jeff to crawl into them. When Jeff hesitates for only a second before lunging at him and practically burrowing into him, because this, _this is what he needs._

 _Say yes or no,_ says Abed.

He dances a finger softly up Jeff’s arm. _No._

He brushes a hand across Jeff’s shoulder. _No._

He presses his fingers into Jeff’s forearm, squeezing. _Yes._

He takes his flannel off and lays it across Jeff’s lap. _No._

He wraps both arms around Jeff and holds him close. _Yes._

He kisses Jeff on the neck. _Yes._

He kisses Jeff on the cheek. _Yes._

He kisses Jeff on the mouth. _Yes._

Abed puts his hands all over Jeff, providing pressure across his body. Every so often Jeff murmurs, _yes,_ keeps doing it until the vibrating energy inside him seems to fade away, until something deep inside his core begins to relax. Until he falls asleep in Abed’s arms, feeling safe for the first time all day.

When he wakes up, they’re still the only people in the room.

 _How long did I sleep?_ he asks Abed.

 _Twenty, thirty minutes,_ Abed replies. _How are you feeling?_

Jeff takes a minute to think about it. He feels better than this morning, he’s managed to lose the bad energy that had seeped into his bones, and the overwhelming sense of doom that’s been following him is mostly gone. 

But the darkness is still there, the black filter that overlays everything he can see and permeates everything he can feel, saturating it. The fear is there, too, the fear of losing his friends, of losing Abed. Of losing _himself._ And finally the sadness, the grief he’s developed just from _being alive,_ the pain of nothing and everything and _all at once._

He’s scared to let Abed know, scared to show him that he’s still not okay, that he’s not fixed. He feels like the nap should have done it, and the kisses, and the holding, and he should have woken up feeling fresh and new and _fine._ Instead, he feels like the energy is gone, the anger and the agitation, but he’s still left as just a pile of nothing, of garbage, of shame.

It’s been what feels like a long time, and Jeff hasn’t answered Abed.

 _I don’t know,_ he says. _Not very good._

 _That’s okay,_ Abed says, and holds him closer. _Do you know what you need?_

He says it in a way that echoes his earlier question, _What do you need right now,_ like Abed has adjusted his trajectory, like he was listening when Jeff told him before that he didn’t know, _he just didn’t know_. Abed adjusted, and he took another shot, and the fullness in Jeff’s heart makes his breath catch.

Jeff doesn’t say anything, just shakes his head and closes his eyes and holds onto Abed as if he’s the edge of the pool and Jeff isn’t sure what he needs to be able to swim, he just knows he doesn’t have it. He doesn’t realize how fast he’s breathing until he notices Abed begin to take long, exaggerated breaths, the way he does when Jeff is panicking, to get Jeff to breathe along with him. And hey, maybe that’s what’s happening right now, because Jeff is just now realizing how breathless and shaky and confused he feels.

He breathes with Abed.

They breathe for a long time.

They breathe until Jeff is back in the safe place he woke up in from his nap, and then Abed starts to breathe normally again, and Jeff joins him.

 _Do you want to go home?_ Abed asks. _I can tuck you in and you can rest for real._

Jeff wants that more than anything, but he doesn’t feel like he deserves it. He hesitates. He still has one more class this afternoon. He has homework to work on, and he was planning to do laundry this afternoon. 

_I have too much stuff to do,_ Jeff says. _I can’t go to bed._

 _Sure you can,_ Abed says. _Don’t worry about the other stuff. We’ll figure the rest of it out later. Do you really think you’ll get much done feeling like you are right now?_

It’s a good point, and Jeff shakes his head in resignation. He lets Abed help him to stand, lets Abed pick up his phone from the floor, lets Abed carry his bag for him and put an arm around his waist and walk him to the car. Abed drives home -- an uncommon occurrence -- and he unlocks the door smoothly, as if he lives there, too, and he practically does.

When they get inside, Abed disappears inside Jeff’s closet and comes back with sweatpants and a t-shirt. While Jeff changes, Abed goes to the kitchen and finds some fruit and cheese and sets it on the bedside table before helping Jeff into bed.

 _This isn’t fair,_ Jeff argues as he eats. _I’m not sick. Why should I get to lounge around all day?_

 _Look me in the eye and tell me you feel like you’re ‘lounging’ right now,_ says Abed, and he waits.

 _I guess I’ll take a nap,_ Jeff sighs, unable to argue, and he feels defeated and triumphant at the same time, like he doesn’t want to be lazy, but he wants to sleep so badly he thinks he might cry.

Abed arranges the pillows and blankets around Jeff, then slips into bed next to him and fits his body around Jeff’s and holds him tightly.

 _How do you know?_ Jeff asks. _What you need. When you feel bad._

 _Years of practice, I guess,_ Abed says thoughtfully. _That ‘yes and no’ game I played with you...you can play that by yourself, you know. To help you figure out what works. After a while you learn to recognize it._

 _How do you know what kinds of things will help?_ Jeff can feel his voice begin to slur as he falls asleep.

 _Trial and error,_ Abed says. _I can help you try to figure out the things that help you, though. They won’t always be the same, but at least you’ll know what you’re working with._

 _You’d do that for me?_ Jeff mumbles.

_I’d do anything for you._


End file.
